FAZER LOGINSIGRUN We'd been riding since midmorning, and by late afternoon I was beginning to suspect that horse-riding had been invented by people who secretly hated the human body. In the past, whenever I'd imagined riding through a fantasy kingdom, I had pictured something cinematic. Wind in my hair. Dramatic scenery. Perhaps an inspiring soundtrack. What I had not pictured was the fact that every single muscle below my waist would eventually declare war on me. My thighs hurt. My back hurt. My shoulders hurt. There were muscles hurting in places I hadn't known muscles existed. The fuck? The mare beneath me seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. I, meanwhile, was discovering that six straight hours in a saddle was a deeply offensive concept. I refused to complain, partly because I was stubborn. And mostly because I was surrounded by werewolves. Between yesterday's journey and today, I observed that the pack rode in a certain formation: Varul was always at
SIGRUN I was dreaming about his hands when Conny's voice pulled me under. I surfaced slowly. Morning light was coming through the tent seams. "Good morning, Yer Highness!" came her chirpy voice. I sat up. And then, because I was so genuinely, pathetically relieved to see a familiar face, I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Conny froze. Then she giggled like a schoolgirl, palm flying to her cheek. Rita came in behind her, carrying clothes in her arms. "Hi," I greeted with a megawatt smile. "Hi?" Rita replied confusedly, like she couldn't understand the word. She gave me that strange look she'd been giving me ever since I woke up in this world. Right. I'd forgotten. "Hi" was not yet a thing here. I had a feeling she already suspected that there was something not quite right about me. "Yer Highness." She bowed finally and set the clothes down. "I brought ye two dresses so you can make yer choice." She held each dress up. One was a pink short-sleeve
VARUL I hardly waited to watch her enter her tent before I turned and walked straight back into the forest. Not because I had somewhere to be. Not because there was a patrol to oversee. Because if I stood outside that tent for another minute, I was going to do something monumentally stupid. Like stalking into her tent and claiming her the way Siren was yelling at me to. Hard. Her dainty wrists pinned above her head with one of my calloused hands. Those gorgeous tits bouncing with each thrust while I— "Fuck!" I muttered into the black sky. The forest swallowed me whole. Moonlight filtered through ancient pines, silvering the ground beneath my boots. I welcomed the cold. It did absolutely fuck all to help the tent growing in my pants. Not that the cold had ever had any effect on me anyway. "Pathetic." The voice echoed through my head. I clenched my jaw. Speaking of the bastard. Siren. My wolf. My curse. My constant companion. My greatest he
His hand moved to my hair, tilting my head back, as he trailed kisses down the column of my neck. His other hand disappeared back into the water, and I felt his fingers brush the sensitive folds between my legs. One finger pushed inside me gently, pumping in and out of me slowly. Torturously. Exquisitely. "Fuck, Princess. You are so tight," Varul groaned against my neck, like he was the one being tortured. "Ah!" I moaned. The sensations coursing through me were clouding my senses. I was dimly aware of the cold water and the moonlight and the forest sounds, and none of it mattered because— Suddenly, he moved. Faster than I could process. One moment I was pressed against his chest and the next I was behind him, his arm sweeping me back, his broad back a wall between me and whatever was beyond the tree line. "What the—" I sputtered in confusion. "Varul." A man's voice. Calm, professional, coming from the direction of the trees. "Darren." I pressed myself flat against
"It's-it's cold. I don't want to get in the water," I protested—halfheartedly, I must confess. All my insides were currently screaming Yes! in falsetto. Because when a man who looks like that and sounds like that tells you to get over here, you get over there, no questions asked. Still, it didn't mean I had to make it easy for him. "This is not a negotiation, Princess. Get over here, or I'll come get you. One of these two options will end with a spank on your ass, but I am going to feel your heat on my tongue either way." He leaned back and smiled. "Your choice, Princess." My cheeks warmed at his words. Wait. He's bluffing. He wouldn't—right? "I'm not bluffing, Princess," he deadpanned, reading my thoughts. Right. The forest seemed to hold its breath as I made my decision. Varul watched me steadily, holding my gaze. Of course, I was the first to look away. "Fine," I muttered and walked the short distance to the water, still clutching my blanket. I was well aware that under
Darren looked a few years younger than Varul. Sandy-haired, sharp-eyed, with a scar across the cheek that gave his face an asymmetry that was almost interesting. But not as hot as my husband, my inner possessive bitch whispered, forgetting that she barely even knew the man enough to think of him as her anything. Anyway, I refocused on Darren. I had been around enough guarded people in my life — starting with my father in the years after my mother died, when watching someone's face meant learning to read what they were hiding — to recognize the quality of Darren's attention. He was not hostile. He was just guarded. "You were at the wedding," I chirped conversationally. There was a tick in his jaw. "Yes, Your Highness." "You're my — Varul's second-in-command, right?" "Yes, Your Highness." Still not looking at me. Okay. I took the hint and shut my mouth. It was obvious that Rita and Conny were going to be the only friendly faces I'd be privy to in this new Northern







